After the War II
by rimshotstinger
Summary: A sequel to my first story, 'After the War'. Strange happenings in Karakura signal the return of old enemies, leading to long-kept secrets of Ichigo's past being uncovered. Change is in the air, but will it be for better or worse? IchiRuki, ByaKarin and others.
1. Chapter 1

Ichigo was sure that, to anyone off the street, he probably looked like a nervous kid on his way to his first-ever date, red as he was in the cheeks. Perhaps they'd also be tipped off by the way he constantly fussed with the dark green collar of his tan shirt. They'd be wrong either way, as he was in fact on his way to see his wife, whom he'd married nine months earlier.

He wondered as he made his way to his father's house if he looked to anyone like a married man instead. He still didn't feel like one. A lucky man, sure; a very happy man, there could be no doubt; but a married man? Did respectable married men have shocking hooligan hair? Did they constantly try to iron the creases out of their shirts with their hands as they walked down the street? He thought not, but then again, did they marry dead girls and slay monsters in their spare time either?

Questions fled his mind as the most beautiful flower caught his eye—a sunflower in yellow and black. About as tall as one, but carrying the unmistakably heavenly scent of lavender, which the wind brought to him as it blew past...fluttering her skirt. The hem danced playfully to the breeze and flashed him more thigh than he'd been prepared for – and apparently, she as well. She quickly slapped her hands down on the skirt in much the same way her husband slapped his nose to stem its sudden flow of blood. Both went pink. At the moment, Ichigo both loved and hated his wife's preference for sundresses.

"D—did you see?" came her nervous tone on the wind that was helping to cool her husband's heated face.

"No," he lied, suddenly unable to think of anything but bunny rabbits, his eyes to the sidewalk. "You...caught it in time."

If someone observed them at that moment, they might never believe that these two were in fact husband and wife – but for only that moment, as by the next, one would find them in a loving embrace, where he lifted her more than a foot off the ground so that their eyes could lock properly.

"I missed you," she said quietly, almost a whisper.

"It's only been two weeks," he replied, gently tugging at one of her cheeks teasingly as he held her close with one hand.

"Are you saying you didn't miss me?" she asked, though through a grin, as she caught the teasing hand in her own and brought them, together, close to her chest.

"Weren't you listening?" he responded as if in surprise, "it's been two weeks."

She kissed him then, and they both felt the familiar sensation of Ichigo's face rapidly heating up. For while behind closed doors or between sheets he was perfectly comfortable expressing his love, public display was still something he struggled with. He pulled away too quickly and hated himself, lucky to have a wife who thought he was too cute when embarrassed to feel the same.

He set her down and they walked hand-in-hand up to the house. Hand-in-hand he could do.

"Was Yuzu still okay to make the kebabs for us?" he asked. Though some romances were meant to last – as their own centuries-long marriage would prove to – unfortunately, the same could not be said for all relationships, including his younger sister's. She and her boyfriend Jinta had apparently decided to break up at some point, which he knew only because of Urahara.

Rukia nodded. "She seems fine. I think cooking makes her happy."

_What doesn't?_ Ichigo wondered about his saccharine sibling.

As they entered the house, they were both overtaken by the deliciously mouth-watering scent of his sister's efforts. "I'm home," Ichigo announced out of habit, causing his sister's head to pop out of the kitchen entryway almost immediately. He noticed she now wore her hair not in pigtails, but a medium-length pixie cut, her bangs tucked behind her left ear and held in place with a flower hairclip. Maybe it was a post-breakup reinvention.

"_Onii-chan_! Rukia-_neesan_!" Yuzu exclaimed as brightly as he'd never heard at seeing the two of them. "I'm just packing them up now, so don't bother taking off your shoes. You don't want to be late," she said, disappearing once again. She reappeared a minute later carrying a picnic basket which emanated the same delectable aroma as before. "I hope everybody enjoys them," she said a little apprehensively as she handed her brother the basket.

"I'm sure we all will," Rukia said confidently, as was her style. "Especially Renji," she added, causing a blush to rise in Yuzu's cheeks. Ichigo's back stiffened, but he wisely kept his mouth shut. He hadn't known Renji was attending their reunion with their friends, their first since the wedding. It would be the first time they would all be together since Hueco Mundo, and the first time he'd talk to Chad since back when he started realizing his feelings for Rukia. Chad had gone away to university in Mexico after graduation, but now that he was back, Ichigo was determined to apologize for sidelining him during his emotional restlessness.

Now that Renji was part of the equation too, though, Ichigo would have to ration time to pull him aside and put a scare in the guy. It was bad enough that he'd chatted up Yuzu for nearly the entire reception of their wedding, but now the mere mention of him was making her blush? No. Ichigo refused to have another one of his sisters seduced by a rival. Losing Karin to Byakuya had been bad enough. This would _not _become a pattern.

Rukia taking his hand released his body of all tension instantly, and he was brought back to the present in time to thank his sister before they left to finally meet their friends.

* * *

As Karin made her way to the Urahara Shoten, she mused at it being her last Spring break before she started university next month. She wondered how things would be different then, how she would be different. Would she feel grown up?

Would she be able to accept a real kiss from Byakuya?

Little had she known that the man's practice of princely hand kisses had been saving her from confronting her underlying romantic nervousness. She had never been the shy type, but at the same time she had also never been the girlie type. She was still a rookie at interacting with boys outside of sports. Sure, she'd hugged Byakuya a couple of times, but that wasn't the same.

Lately, in the wake of Byakuya attending her brother's wedding – a silent declaration of his love for her, as they both knew – she had been finding her gaze drawn more frequently to his lips as he spoke to her. Her mind would take off from there, imagining every possible kissing scenario, and worse, all the ways she could make a rookie mistake. She'd never kissed anyone before! She didn't know what to do!

"Karin-_chan_, are you okay?" came a timid voice. It was Ururu from the Shoten. They'd started getting to know one another during Karin's frequent trips to the shop, where Yoruichi had taken her as a student of _shunpo_ to supplement Byakuya's teachings. As it happened, they got along quite well, which was comforting to each of them, since they'd be attending the same university in a month's time.

Karin realized then that Ururu was probably concerned because of the way her friend frozen stiff in the street, still a ways a way from the Shoten and very red in the face.

"Do you have a fever?" the raven-haired girl asked.

Karin shook herself out of her stupor. "I-I'm fine," she stammered as she slapped her cheeks and continued, stiffly, to the Shoten.

As was her nature, Ururu was happy to walk quietly beside her new friend as she made her way with robotic steps to the storefront, only to freeze once more, but this time out of fear.

She put her arm out to stop Ururu from going on ahead. "Ururu-_chan_, do you feel that?"

"Feel what?" asked Ururu, bewildered.

"I'm not really sure...but I've felt it before...it's like a Hollow, only different..." Karin continued to probe the alien _reiatsu_ with her mind, but couldn't reconcile it as Hollow or spirit. Whatever it was, it felt like it was _inside_ the Shoten.

"Oh, him," Ururu said, and Karin whipped her head around to face her. "It's okay, he's a guest. Urahara-_san_ brought him here a few days ago," she explained innocently.

"Urahara-_san _did?"

Ururu nodded. "Would you like to meet him? He's pretty harmless."

_No_, she wanted to say. This was the kind of creature that gave her the sickening feeling of a cold snake coming to rest in a coil in her stomach. It felt like everything that had kept her up at night since her first Hollow encounter, back when they were invisible to her, and before her training.

But Ururu had said "he" was harmless, and Ururu was the most timid thing she'd ever encountered. And surely they were safe in the Shoten, Karin always felt safest there.

"O-okay," she said through unbecoming shakiness. She hoped it wouldn't be the last decision she ever made. She still had kissing to conquer, dammit!

Ururu led her inside and across the never-changing interior of the shop to a sliding paper door, probably the worst security Karin could think of given that a very powerful Hollow-thing could be felt on the other side. She'd always known Urahara was a little touched upstairs, but _this_...

Ururu announced herself like a houseguest before sliding open the door.

...What?

The thing that was lying on the simple futon that was the only furnishing in the small bedroom wasn't a Hollow at all, but a man. He had light blue hair and scary, catlike eyes similar to those of Yoruichi-_san._ However, against all odds, neither feature in its extreme oddness managed to surpass that of the thing on his face. It was as if he'd broken off the right lower half of a Hollow's mask and stuck it to the appropriate spot on his own face. It even had all its teeth still in it.

This guy was a psycho...And he had a _sword_?! For God's sake! Maybe she and Ururu weren't getting along as well as she'd thought. It was _always_ the quiet ones, and this one had lured Karin to her untimely death!

"Hi, Grimmjow-_san_," Ururu said kindly as if she weren't flirting with Death on behalf of them both.

"Don't add stupid stuff to my name, I said," retorted the ornery psycho. "It's just 'Grimmjow'." He hadn't been looking at them, but the ceiling, though that changed after he sniffed the air a bit. He locked his terrifying eyes with Karin's. "You stink."

Karin was insulted, though it was still preferable to being dead at this point. Still, it wasn't as if she'd just come from soccer practice without showering.

"Don't say things like that, Grimmjow-_san_," Ururu cut in before Karin could tell the psycho off Kurosaki-style.

Then Grimmjow's eyes widened and he started getting up, making Karin jump and retreat a few steps. "Wait a minute!" he exclaimed, "You smell like—"

Before he could finish his insult, he wobbled and fell face-first back onto the futon, as if he were very dizzy or very drunk. His position let Karin see for the first time that the sword at his side was actually secured into its sheath by a knotted rope so that it couldn't be drawn. She relaxed a bit. She also noticed that he had a fist-sized hole blown through his stomach and lower back: another attraction this one-man freak show had to offer.

"You shouldn't strain yourself," Ururu told him gently, to which he responded by grumbling into his futon.

"What's wrong with him?" Karin asked, loudly, so that he could be offended.

"He's still weak from when Urahara-_san_ rescued him. He's had most of his _reiatsu _pulled out of him." The explanation did little to tell Karin much of anything, but she let it go. He wasn't worth the time anyway.

Back outside, Karin stopped Ururu and asked, "Why's Urahara-_san_ putting him up? Did he get attacked my a Hollow or something?" She thought it was a good theory. He was clearly a man who felt like a Hollow, a feeling she'd also gleaned from her brother's old friend, Chad.

Ururu shook her head. "He's called an _Arrancar_. He used to be a Hollow, but now he's something different. Urahara-_san_ called him a 'special combat reserve'. I think he senses something's going to happen soon..." she finished, becoming pensive, though not nervous as one might expect.

Karin had heard once that she was essentially a reserve soldier for the Gotei 13 in Soul Society. She had to admit, her training had come along way. She even knew her _zanpakuto_'s name now. And there was still her brother, and he even knew _bankai_. If Urahara-_san_ was bringing in extra help – that of a Hollow, no less – then whatever he suspected was something deadly serious.

"What do you think it is?" Karin asked, unable to help herself.

Ururu seemed to consider changing the subject as she chewed her bottom lip. Karin was just about to let it die when her friend suddenly piped up. "Have you heard anything about the Queen of Hollows?"

* * *

Ichigo could see Orihime and Uryu already sitting at the picnic table in the high school courtyard, she in a frilly lavender shirt and white jean shorts, he in a dark violet dress shirt and tan slacks. Orihime, presumably, had already draped a white cloth over it and had set out a large bowl of salad made from questionable exotic greens, as well as a plate of succulent lamb shanks, which Ichigo bet were Uryu's doing. Thankfully. Oddly, they weren't sitting side-by-side. Maybe Uryu was still shy.

Kurosaki-_kun_! Rukia-_san_!" Orihime yelled as if to outdo Yuzu herself as she popped up out of her seat. She ran over and caught Rukia up in a tight hug, suffocating her in squishy endowment as her feet dangled helplessly slightly above the ground. Rukia gasped as she was released back onto the pavement, like a deep sea diver whose air tank had run out before they broke the surface.

"It's nice to see you, Orihime," Rukia said as she fussed with her now-dishevelled hair.

"Is Chad here yet?" Ichigo asked as he swept past her and placed the basket of kebabs on the table beside the shanks. Orihime immediately went about removing them and lining them up on serving dishes as Uryu got up to exchange pleasantries with Rukia.

"Not yet," Orihime answered while working. "He said he's bringing spaghetti though. I told him sea urchin roe goes good on top, but I don't think he agreed with me," she rambled.

"I couldn't find where to buy them," came a deep baritone from behind her. It was Chad, clad in a bright orange t-shirt and black pants, carrying many foil-topped plates along each tree trunk-sized arm like a masterful waiter.

"Chad!" Orihime squealed excitedly. Though she bounced on the balls of her feet for a second with glee, she wisely refrained from hugging her giant friend and instead set to removing the plates from him first.

"Uh..." Ichigo started, as nervous as he'd ever been trying to work up the courage to confess to Rukia. "It's good to see you again...Chad."

So close. He'd almost made it through the entire greeting without taking his eyes off of his friend, but in the end, he'd said the man's name into the pavement.

When Chad made his signature grunt, Ichigo looked up once more, his friend's stone cold expression hitting him like a punch in the chest. Then, a moment later, a grin crept into the man's full lips.

Did he not—?

"You too, Ichigo," Chad said with total sincerity.

"How...have you been?" Ichigo forced himself to ask, straining against his utterly stunned mind. His brain felt numb.

Chad brought up both his arms and placed his left forearm in his right hand as if to study it up close. "I met a man in Mexico who was like me. He taught me about my power. He called it 'Fullbring'," he explained. It was the most Ichigo had heard Chad spoken at once in ages, and he knew it would be ages before it happened again.

"Oh," was all Ichigo could think to say. And it only took the span of the short moment of silence that followed for the effects of smalltalk to wear off and for Ichigo to subsequently be filled anew with his guilt. "Listen, Chad, I'm sorry..."

"Don't be," Chad replied, before Ichigo could search for more to say and make an ass of himself, "I'm glad you two finally got together."

As the man patted Ichigo's shoulder and swept past him, Ichigo's mind hitched on the word _finally_. Had Chad somehow seen something that even the two of them hadn't so far back? Dammit! What else was the lummox hiding behind his curtain of silence?!

They had just finished setting up – of _course – _when Renji finally made his appearance. And what an appearance it was! His knack, or lack thereof, for choosing earthly clothing was in full, embarrassing swing. He wore a blue shirt with a collar too high and a V-neck too deep, with the sleeves rolled up. On the right breast it bore two patches—one read his surname, _Abarai_, in English, while the larger one below it simply said "füel" which to Ichigo looked German. Adding to his ensemble was a white and tan cap, turned to the side to ensure it was precisely far enough out of style, beneath which he'd tied his air in a braid that was almost as tight as his white jeans. He'd even added a beaded necklace.

In each hand he carried a pitcher, one filled with bright yellow juice, the other with vibrant orange. "Where did you want these, Orihime?" he asked, correctly deducing who among them was the picnic table organizer. Once she'd set them down in the centre of the table, Ichigo could smell that neither was the fruit juice he'd foolishly assumed, and felt tense. Was it some strange Soul Society concoction?

He examined the liquids so closely as to notice a miniscule chip on the lip of one of the pitchers – a chip he knew well.

"Renji, did that come from my house?" he asked.

Renji had to tear the lamb shank he was destroying out of his mouth and chew like a ravenous hyena before he could answer. "Yeah, I just got back from there," he said nonchalantly.

"Why?"

"I had something to discuss with your dad. I'll tell you about it if it becomes important," was all he said. Ichigo's ire was already starting to rise at being brushed off. It only got worse when Orihime mentioned to Renji that Yuzu had made the kebabs, and the goon went pink and started hurriedly shovelling them into his maw. Damn it, now they both blushed when someone mentioned the other.

He distracted himself by picking a fight with Uryu. It happened that they both decided to attend graduate school, and worse yet, the same one. They'd be stuck together for at least another two years. They were deep in the throes of arguing who was following who around, when Ichigo felt a tug on the unattended lamb shank in his hand.

Rukia had, while he was arguing, taken a bite out of it, and glaze now painted the corner of her mouth as she managed to swallow the large piece she'd taken. He couldn't be sure why she'd done it, but if it had been her way of pulling him out of the argument, it worked. He couldn't help but chuckle at her, his frustration melting away as he did.

_That's my wife_, he thought, amazed, for the umpteenth time in nine months.

Then she seemed to notice him looking at the glaze and cleared it away with her slender first finger. Then, unexpectedly, she bent over and stuck the morsel squarely on his lips, grinning mischievously all the while.

Ichigo went from zero to feverish in no time flat. He only barely managed to catch Chad's and Orihime's amused looks before they melted away into the tunnel vision that led directly to his wife before him. His heart thundered in his ears. He couldn't tell if he'd swallowed because of the tidbit of glaze she'd put in his mouth or out of pure nerves. She loved to tease him.

Everyone had a good laugh once Ichigo snapped out of it and calmed down. Seeing Ichigo blushing like a schoolboy seemed to make Renji's day, and he constantly jabbed Ichigo about it thereafter, whenever he wasn't pigging out on kebabs.

But when Uryu called him hopeless, Ichigo had to lean in and retort. "You can't talk," he whispered. "You can't even sit next to Orihime." Nobody else had heard. That was for Ichigo's ego alone, not to embarrass anyone.

Uryu came back after a pause, just as quietly and without bitterness: "Orihime and I aren't together anymore."

* * *

From afar, their watcher could only pick out their hair colours as if looking at a flower garden: orange, chestnut, red, blacks dotted about—like targets, prey that had flocked together to make the pickings easier. She tapped her cheek impatiently, chaffing against her orders to simply observe. She could take them all out right then and there if she moved quickly enough. The _Shinigami _weren't even in their spirit forms.

She felt the delicate touch of her sister's hand brushing against her arm. "I know what you're thinking," came her patronizing tone. "We were told to proceed as planned," she lectured.

"Shut up, I know that," snapped the first.

"There's not enough of them yet. Once we make our move, they'll flood in, then we can divide and conquer."

"I know, I said!" It took everything she had not to slap her sister in the face right then. "Jeez, I can't believe _he_'s the one," she said, switching subjects.

"Do you mean him being the one who defeated Aizen?"

"You know that's not what I meant—I didn't even see it happen."

"Ah, then you mean...our _father_."

The watcher nodded.

"Well, we might as well prepare. Do you have it with you?" asked the sister.

"How dumb do you think I am?" snapped the watcher, raising her _Seele Schneider _to her sister's eyes as proof, still watching the crowd below.

"Let us go, then."

And with that, they vanished.


	2. Chapter 2

_Knock, knock._

Ichigo put down his textbook, got up from his bed and strode across his new dorm to open the door. It was probably Yuzu, here to bring him the home-made dinner she'd promised him for his first day.

He was, pleasantly, wrong. Rukia stood before him in her _Shinigami_ form. Instead of the look of glee she normally wore when she stole time away with him, this time she looked shocked.

"Ichigo, what are you wearing?" she asked.

Was it really so odd to see him dressed nicely outside of a school uniform?

The white collared shirt he'd already owned, but the sweater-vest he'd layered over it was something he'd bought specifically for graduate school. Entering a new school was a chance to make a new impression on people, so he decided that it was finally time to stop striking fear into people's hearts and start having an air about him that a husband should have. Sure, the pairs of vertical red and green stripes which ran from shoulder to hem on either side of the vest's collar seemed a bit Christmasy, but the red lion emblazoned on the left breast was surely enough to detract from that – and the fact that it was a sweater-vest.

Wait, she wasn't paying attention to the vest _or_ its very manly red lion. She was staring straight into his...

_Oh, dammit._

"It's nothing, don't worry about it," he said rather shamefully, removing the square-framed glasses from his face.

"Nothing? Since when do you wear _glasses_?" she asked. She'd clearly been having a slow week in Soul Society, because the prospect seemed to inspire a disproportionate level of amazement in her. Moreover, she seemed more amazed by their very presence than the fact that the frames were, embarrassingly, pink. _Pink_. He could only imagine why she wasn't pointing and laughing right at his face.

He ushered her inside and closed the door before going on. "Just this year, and it's only for reading," he justified, slipping them into the pocket of his white jeans. "Yuzu went to the optometrist with me and picked the frames, she said they looked good because my hair's so bright," he yammered quickly, past his rising shame. "I just wear them in my room," he went on. "I said I'd wear them and I knew she was dropping by tonight, so that's why—"

"I think they're nice," Rukia mercifully cut in. Ichigo was gobsmacked. He was so shocked that it deafened him to the statement she slipped in right after, under her breath: "Although the frames _do_ make you look like Aizen."

Ichigo glided over to wrap her in a gentle hug, letting it say both _I missed you_ and _Thanks for not calling me a dork_.

As she squeezed him back more tightly, she said into his chest, "I've seen you wear a Hollow Mask. Nothing will ever be worse than that."

Ichigo pulled away then, about to argue the merits of that mask and how it'd helped him save her life more than once, when he finally spotted the satchel hanging from his wife's right shoulder. Damn, maybe he'd need glasses for more than reading after all.

"Hm? What did you bring with you? Work?" In response, Rukia flicked him on the nose.

"What do you think I am? I'm no slacker, Ichigo, I finished my week's work before I came," she huffed, although unable to muster the anger she once could toward him.

"So Ukitake just let you go?" he asked while stepping back a few paces to avoid another stinging flick.

"Actually, he's trying to prepare Sentaro for vice-Captaincy when a position opens up, so he's been taking on some of my responsibilities."

Ichigo knew he should probably take that at face value, Ukitake's motive being purely to further Sentaro's career, but damn if he didn't still want to hug the man.

"So..." Ichigo chanced, getting back on track, "what did you bring?"

He was suddenly thankful anew to have Getsu around again. He blamed the Hollow internally for wanting the contents of the bag to be sexy nightwear.

Instead, out came one of his wife's many sketchbooks as well as an assortment of coloured markers. Oh boy.

Ichigo didn't know what to say to that. Thankfully, Rukia did. "I guessed that you would be studying, so I figured we could have a quiet night together." When Ichigo's look of befuddlement didn't fade, she added, "Besides, you said Yuzu was coming over, right?"

Oh. She was a genius. A genius in too much clothing, but still.

With newfound confidence, Ichigo donned his glasses once again as he laid himself on his bed, propped against the headboard for optimal reading. Rukia, in turn, laid across him with her head resting on his stomach, knees bent to use as an easel as she scribbled away at the sketchbook's pages. It was the most fun either of them had ever had being so quiet.

* * *

Surrounded by inky darkness, Grimmjow had the distinct feeling that he was being watched. No, stalked – hunted. He felt like a gazelle in the hungry sight of an unseen lioness, and his muscles refused to relax. He Ached all over in anticipation of even greater pain as he whipped his head hither and thither, desperately trying to get a lock on the presence that was working upon him like this. It always seemed to snake away just as he'd thought he'd found it, and taking steps in search of it made no difference. The blackness didn't give way to anything; he couldn't even be sure he was getting anywhere.

Then he heard it: a low, rumbling growl, altogether familiar and unsettling. But where had he heard it before?

From out of the darkness it issued again, seeming to bleed from every direction as if he were already in the belly of a great, growling beast. That couldn't be right, he was in the Shoten. He could hardly move on his bed let alone escape his room to be gobbled up by some huge Hollow or something once he was free. Again it came, like the steady ebb and flow of the ocean, rattling his skull and causing his teeth to itch as they buzzed like little tuning forks from the omnipresent noise. It was striking even deeper than merely his bones, though. Dammit, what was it about this sound?

As soon as it came to him, the sound abruptly changed. Still a rumble, it lost its monotony and took on the lilting quality of language. At first he couldn't make anything of it, but after straining, he was able to pull something from it:

_Let me out_.

Wait, he knew that voice. It was oddly deep and slightly tinny as if resounding through a metal tube, but he definitely recognized its owner: himself. Whatever was out there shared his voice.

_So you can hear me_, came the doppelganger tone in his ear. It seemed...taunting. _Can you see me yet?_

And just like that, Grimmjow was finally able to pinpoint a shape in the dark. It was black on black so that it seemed more like the contour of someone moving behind a curtain than a separate entity. However, as it slunk about under his steady gaze, it seemed to resolve, its form gradually pulling away from the dark until he could see the unmistakable silhouette of a large cat. A _very_ large cat. A—

A white jaguar stepped into view as if out of the shadows, looking like it'd been build of bony plates interlocking to form the animal's shape. It walked silently on black paws and glared back and Grimmjow with eyes like those of his own reflection.

It spoke. "Look what's become of you," it mocked.

Grimmjow decided to give his surroundings another visual once-over, starting to think this was a fever dream. "Why are you here?"

"I'm here to ask you to let me out," it said simply, sitting on its haunches. Did it want him to attack the Shoten?

"And how do I do that?" Grimmjow asked, intrigued. Was there a way he could reclaim his former strength through this...thing?

Then the jaguar chucked at him condescendingly. "That's something you have to figure out for yourself," it said, harshly, as if in reprimand. Then it moved its lips again, but this time nothing at all came out.

"What?"

Same thing. The jaguar had lost its voice or something. It looked like it was trying to say something, but the silence between them remained unbroken. Then it shook its head like a disappointed teacher, turned and stalked away.

"Hey, wait, come back here!" Grimmjow demanded. But it was too late: the jaguar faded back into the dark and was gone, and he was alone again.

He opened his eyes. After dreaming of such darkness, the overhead light and illuminated his room in the Shoten felt like the raw, burning sun on his eyes. He turned onto his stomach to avoid it and blinked into his small pillow a few times until his eyes stopped stinging. But as he turned back over, he found himself beat by the time he was on his back again. Holy hell! Had his time in the desert of Hueco Mundo really done _that_ much damage?

Most outsiders wouldn't know, but the sand of Hueco Mundo was actually more like rice. It was edible, but instead of absorbing moisture, it absorbed _reiryoku_. Thirstily. Anything weak enough that became submerged in it, such as the body of a starved Hollow, had its energy sapped. It was dangerous, but it also meant that midsized Hollows could temporarily quiet the roars of their inner hunger by swallowing it in handfuls. Larger Hollows who couldn't seem to ever eat enough were known to build cavernous burrows deep within it by eating their way through, providing them with sustenance and shelter.

After that bastard Nnoitra had blindsided him, Grimmjow eventually awoke, barely, to find himself in pitch dark. He immediately knew where he was, and that he wasn't yet too deep, but hadn't the strength to get out; such was the work of the granules on his body. But he could feel an itch in his chest, because with each unconscious breath, he'd taken the sand in as well. The sand without would drink in his energy, only to be drawn in with his rattling breath and be rapidly burned away by his Hollow metabolism, replenishing him just enough to continue the cycle without him dying. He was mummified, barely alive, in a thin layer of the soul-sucking sand.

Some might think it a miracle, but the sand was indeed still doing its best to drain him completely. He would have certainly died were it not for his indomitable will, his urge to live. His urge to get out and one day fight Ichigo Kurosaki again.

For months, years, Grimmjow would drift in and out of consciousness while so entombed in the sand. Sometimes it was because he felt a spike in _reiatsu_ above him – very familiar _reiatsu_. Sometimes it was because two Hollows were roaring as they fought a distance away. Whatever the reason, whenever he awoke it lit a flame deep in his gut, and life filled him up again, though unaccompanied by strength.

Then, one day, he heard a digging sound above him. To a man trapped like a fly in amber for years, it was a relaxing sound. Either it meant he would soon be free, or more likely, that he'd be eaten. Either way, it was better than spending the rest of eternity trapped between life and death. The digging went on for long enough for him to drift in and out of hearing it—he must have sunk deeper into the sand than he'd realized over time.

Then a hand grabbed his. A warm hand, not a Hollow's or an _Arrancar_'s, whose flesh was characteristically chilled. He was pulled into the blinding light of the lonely silver moon and flopped helplessly upon the sand. His eyes wouldn't focus at first, but that didn't matter since he spent his first minutes thereafter facing the ground. He'd rolled over to cough up the sand still in his lungs which had yet to burn off. It came out the colour of soot, drained of all its stored energy in a reversal of roles. He collapsed face-first after his spasm and woke up sometime later in his room at the Shoten.

He wondered why as he stared up at the wood ceiling, still panting lightly from the chore that turning over had sadly become. Why had the hat man saved him from the clutches of undeath? He knew from Aizen that the guy was a schemer, but what was his plan for a drained and useless husk of a former _Eespada_? And why let him keep his _zanpakuto_ at his side if he could neither draw nor even find the strength to lift it? Some kind of motivation?

His attention was suddenly pulled from these questions as he felt happenings a distance away outside. Four weak flames flickered to life – _Shinigami_ entering the Living World – and then were snuffed out. Except he hadn't felt any Hollows at all near them, or their gateways open back up after closing behind them; they had simply...

* * *

Ichigo found himself standing across from Getsu, his Inner Hollow, and realized that he was now asleep.

The Hollow had changed since Ichigo had last seen it around ten months prior, when he'd saved it from destruction. Usually it mirrored Ichigo's appearance entirely in bone white, but now he seemed an even more accurate reflection of his human. His _shihakusho_ was now coloured black just like Ichigo's and he too bore wrappings that could be seen on his arms, legs, chest and neck. Where Ichigo's were red, though, Getsu's were blue, like his tongue. Also new to him was his expression of...worry?

"Ichigo..." rang his metallic voice as if in shock. "I remember..."

"What?" Ichigo asked. But before he was even finished the word, his Inner World had begun to move, as if drawing back and away from him. The horizontal buildings whose tips disappeared into the vast blue distance seemed to rapidly draw closer to Getsu before overtaking him and rushing past Ichigo. It was as if the whole world had become a tunnel that they were moving through. Soon enough, he could even see out the other end: the street on which the Shoten sat swiftly grew from a pinpoint of light to replace the receding scenery around them. In less than thirty seconds, he and Getsu were suddenly standing there, in front of the Shoten, instead.

Taking in his surroundings, Ichigo noticed nothing unusual that Getsu might be trying to show him. The Shoten never changed, inside or out.

"Getsu," he said, the name feeling clunky in his mouth, "what's going on?"

"Ichigo, I – ––––"

Had the infant cries suddenly piercing the air been what had drowned the Hollow out? Ichigo couldn't actually be sure, but he guessed that whatever had Getsu so enthralled was worth checking out for himself. The Hollow was staring off toward the Shoten where Ichigo realized the wails of the baby were issuing. Why?

Ichigo walked over to the storefront, unnoticed by Urahara. Though the man had his back to Ichigo, the young man knew that the former Captain would sense him if this were real. A memory, maybe? Getsu's?

Then Urahara turned to reveal the wailing infant he cradled in his arms. The boy had short, light blonde hair which jutted out in stubby spikes. Ichigo instantly recognized his infant self, whose hair would darken soon enough into its unmistakable shade of orange. He'd never known that Urahara had taken care of him that far back though, or that he was such a noisy brat. He just wouldn't stop crying. Maybe he had colic.

Urahara continued to shush the boy and bounce him gingerly up and down, but to no avail. He brought Ichigo up to his chest so that the baby was free to wail over his shoulder as he gently caressed his back. It wasn't any use either. Baby Ichigo was officially the worst, adult Ichigo decided.

Then suddenly a pair of sliding paper doors appeared in the middle of the courtyard out of thin air – a _Senkaimon_. Of course the astounding sight still wasn't enough to quiet baby Ichigo, but what followed was certainly enough to stun his adult counterpart.

Rukia stepped out from between the doors.

Struck stalk still with surprise, it was a chore just for Ichigo to turn his head to face Getsu, to confirm with the Hollow if this was real, if it had actually happened. If they'd truly met before that night in his fifteenth year. But instead of the Hollow, he saw Zangetsu, having apparently taken his place.

"_Ossan_..." Ichigo began, but stopped when his sunglasses-wearing, shaggy-haired _zanpakuto_ spirit started a slow walk toward him. And with each deliberate step, the world of the past disintegrated behind him, the scenery shattering and falling in shards to give way to white nothingness like large reflecting mirrors breaking on the floor. By the time Zangetsu was less than a foot away from Ichigo, both the Shoten and the world in which it existed had vanished.

Zangetsu gave Ichigo a tired, disappointed look before he put his hand over his wielder's eyes.

And Ichigo woke up.

The first thing he noticed was how cold his chest was. There was nothing to cover it, be it shirt or blanket or his wife, who stood gazing out the window with an ominous expression. But that wasn't what worried Ichigo just then.

"Rukia, don't stand there when you're naked," he told her as he slid off the bed. He brought the blanket with him over his shoulders like a heavy cloak, and when he reached her, draped it over hers so that they were cocooned together in it.

"I'm not in my _gigai_, nobody can see me," she pointed out as she slipped a hand out from under their shared overgarment to lightly touch the windowpane with her slender fingers. As if...

"What's wrong?" Ichigo asked, peering out into the darkness with his eyes and sixth sense, trying to pinpoint what had his wife in such a mood.

"I felt something a moment ago."

"What?"

"A squad of _Shinigami_...they just..."

* * *

"Vanished?" Byakuya repeated as the messenger maintained her low bow before him.

"Yessir," she confirmed. "A squadron sent to the Living World, just an hour ago."

"You're sure?"

"Yessir, the Twelfth Division checked and rechecked the data. They've completely disappeared."

"Where from?"

"Karakura, sir."

Byakuya was suddenly thankful that his back was to the messenger at that moment. She didn't see his practiced Kuchiki facade slip, his eyes momentarily widen in shock. He had wondered when she'd first arrived why he in particular was being informed, but now it made sense. However, was she reporting to him because he had _his_ sister in Karakura to worry about, or Ichigo Kurosaki's sister? Did she know? Did they all know?

He had to push past it, he decided. He had to keep gathering information and fast, so that his surprise would not be too obvious.

"To which Division did they belong?"

"Unassigned, sir," replied the messenger. "They were a training squad from the Shin'o Academy."

That was interesting. "Does the Twelfth have any theories as to what might have caused their disappearance?" By now, Byakuya's questions were merely distractions from the fact that he was already frantically writing up a request for a _gigai_ from the Twelfth and calculating when and for how long he could take time away from the Sixth to make the trip to Karakura.

"In fact, they believe they know the reason exactly," said the messenger darkly.

"And?" He had already folded and was placing the request in an envelope. The messenger's answer came just as he was pressing on the spot of hot wax with his Kuchiki sigil stamp to seal it.

"They believe it to be the work of Quincy, Captain."

For the second time, Byakuya found solace in his back having faced the messenger, this time when the stamp slipped from his fingers. He caught it just before it could clack upon his desk.

He placed it back in its holder and turned to hand the messenger the envelope. "Deliver this to the Twelfth immediately," was all he said.

Her robotic response of "Yessir" barely made it through the doorway as he slid the door closed upon it.


End file.
